


We could be lovers

by leiascully



Series: Earth That Was [1]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: smut_tuesdays, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-17
Updated: 2009-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:16:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gods, how'd I end up with a romantic?" she asked the ceiling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We could be lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: pre-series  
> A/N: Happy [**smut_tuesdays**](http://community.livejournal.com/smut_tuesdays/)! The other thing I was writing didn't pan out, so here's this instead. I quite enjoy it. Title from Paula Abdul's "Opposites Attract". The working title was "gham se anjaani", but there's only English in BSG, so I am thwarted. Ah well.  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

Galen unlocked the door, juggling the bag of produce and the bouquet of gladiolus, and shoved open the door with his shoulder. "Baby, I'm home."

"Heyyy," Tory said. "I'm in the kitchen." She was gazing into the fridge. Galen set the bag and the flowers on the counter, shrugged out his jacket, and wrapped his arms around her, putting his chin on her shoulder. She cupped his face with one hand. "There is nothing in this thing that I remotely want to eat."

"I think I have the solution to your problem," he murmured, nuzzling her neck. She laughed and turned in his arms, kissing him.

"Filling, but not very nourishing," she said.

"Hey hey hey," he said, "I don't know what kind of ideas you're entertaining, lady, but I went to the market on my way home." He kissed her lingeringly and went to upend the bag on the counter. "Look at that. Tomatoes, onion, jalapenos, avocado, cilantro, bell peppers. I am gonna make us some salsa while the peppers marinade with that chicken I just saw, and then we will have some very sizzling fajitas."

"The man with the plan," she said indulgently, putting her hands in his back pockets. "You know salsa's better if it sits."

"Yeah," he said, rattling through the drawers for a knife, "but what would we do in the meantime?"

"A man with that kind of foresight ought to have a few ideas," she said in a throaty voice.

"I might have a few," he admitted, walking slowly to the sink with the vegetables, dragging her along with him. "I am an evolved specimen. Why don't you put those flowers in a vase and tell me about work?"

"Work was work," she said, slipping her hands out of his pockets and briefly sliding them up his ribs instead. "You know, census taking, calling argumentative voters, rounding up volunteers and bribing them into doing all my filing. It's all glamor and glitz down at the office." She tore the paper from the flowers and shook them out. She held them up to her face, putting her nose into the gold and pink blossoms and inhaling deeply. "Oh, these are beautiful, Galen."

"Only the best for the best girl I know," he said, leaning to kiss her.

"Gods, you're such a sap," she said, but kissed him back. He grinned into the kiss and she bit his lip gently. He could smell the flowers and the last of her perfume and the scent of her shampoo mingling with her skin; the water ran over the perfect tomatoes and peppers cupped in his palms.

"Admit it," he said, kissing down the side of her neck as she tipped her head back, "you love it."

"I love you," she corrected. "It's different."

"All part of the package, baby." He pulled away reluctantly and turned off the water, shaking extra drops from the vegetables. She put the bouquet up to shield herself from the spray, the flowers catching in the tumble of her hair.

"It is a nice package," she allowed, pushing past him to grab the vase from the windowsill. He grinned at her and spread the vegetables over the cutting board. He could hear her rustling the flowers into place as he picked up the knife and started to chop the peppers into strips and the tomatoes into chunks. The onion became rings and then piles of strips and diced. Tory, having apparently arranged the flowers to her satisfaction, came up behind him and drew patterns on his back with her fingertips. The hair prickled at the nape of his neck and he shivered, but his hands were steady on the cutting board. The hot circle of her mouth was against his t-shirt, printing moist circles across his shoulder blades. He tipped the tomatoes and diced onion into a bowl as Tory counted his ribs. The bell peppers went into another bowl with the other half the onion and he picked up jalapenos and cilantro, mincing them fine. Tory slipped her cool damp hands under his shirt and slid them up his back until the fabric pulled tight over his chest and her wrists. She was still breathing like a kiss against his spine and her palms skidded over his skin. He swallowed as warmth spread from her hands through his body, his cock stirring. He kept mincing, cutting the green bits finer and finer until it was almost a paste on the board, the sting of the oils on his fingers the same burn that grew wherever her hands touched him. He sighed and she chuckled, rubbing her cheek against his back affectionately, and he scraped the peppers and cilantro in with the tomatoes and reached for the salt shaker.

"You're so good," Tory said, wrapping her arms around him under his shirt. He could feel the pulse in her wrist against his hip.

"Not feeling that good right now," he said. "Not virtuous, anyway."

"Good," she said. "I hope work was lonely without me."

"You know it was," he said, reaching for the avocado and then putting it back. "Nah, that'll turn if I cut it now. Got to get the chicken."

She released him. "Are you sure about that virtue? I thought you'd be more distracted by now."

He put the knife down and turned to her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her until she melted into his hold. "One thing at a time, baby," he said, a little breathless. She grinned at him, her hair disheveled and her eyes bright.

"Hurry up," she said, undoing the top buttons of her shirt.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, gazing down into her cleavage. He touched one finger to the hollow of her collarbone. He could feel the current of life running through her. Her tendons flexed as she swallowed.

"Ow," she said after a moment. "Wash your hands. You got chilis on me."

He dipped his head and tasted the spice of the jalapeno on her skin. "Mmmm," he said into her collarbone, and she cupped the back of his head affectionately.

"That stings," she said. She pressed up into his touch.

"Reminds you you're alive," he said, nuzzling at the collar of her shirt.

"I can think of better ways," she said, ducking away, undoing her shirt buttons as she went and swaying her hips. He leaned against the fridge and watched her sashay down the hall. She glanced over her shoulder at him when she reached the bedroom and raised one eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, mostly to himself, "I'm hurrying." He reached into the fridge and found the chicken. He rinsed it under the tap and slapped it on the board, severing long strips and dropping them in with the peppers. He shook cumin in and poured broth over all of it, moving the bowl to the stovetop. The oil from the peppers stung in the creases between his fingers and he put his hands under the water, washing until they didn't burn anymore and it was the rest of him that was hot, humming with urgency. He dried his hands and grabbed some lotion from the bottle Tory kept by the sink; it made his hands smell like ambergris or gods knew what, but it was better than going to her with dishwater fingers. He shrugged out of his shirt and kicked off his shoes as he made his way to the bedroom.

"That was fast," she said, lolling in the covers, down to her lacy underthings.

"I had good motivation," he said, and shucked off his jeans. He tossed his glasses onto the nightstand. "There was a beautiful woman in my bed."

"I paid for half of this bed," she said, reaching out for him. He leaned over her, bracing himself up so that he could drop kisses on her flushed face.

"Maybe more than half," he said. "But I don't mind being a kept man. Take the compliment, baby, or I'll keep telling you until you believe it."

"You can tell me forever and I'll still be skeptical," she said, running her nails down his back.

"You're beautiful," he said, kissing her forehead. "You're beautiful." A kiss on the shoulder. "You're beautiful." His mouth at her cleavage, tasting the faint salt between her breasts. "You're beautiful." He lipped her nipple through black lace and heard her breath catch. "Believe me yet? I can do this all night."

"I believe you," she said, tugging him back up. He draped himself half over her and she wriggled under his weight, arching her back. "Just still kind of mind-blowing that you're that crazy about me."

"I am certifiable," he said. "I am over the frakking moon about you. Gods, I could resurrect every day from now until the apocalypse and I'd still love you."

"You're mine, huh," she said, kissing him.

"They could erase me and I'd still know you as soon as I touched you," he said, spreading his hand over her hip. "Look. That just fits. Nobody else is ever gonna fit that way."

"Gods, how'd I end up with a romantic?" she asked the ceiling.

"Just lucky, I guess," he said. He slid down her front to blow a raspberry on her belly, and followed it with a kiss hard enough to draw a bruise. She sucked in air. He grinned and shimmied down further, between her legs, peeling the scrap of lace down her thighs. She drew up her knees to help him, letting the panties drop from her toes to the floor. He pinned her hips with his forearm and kissed the inside of her thigh, teasing her skin with his tongue until she fidgeted and moaned.

"Hurry up and wait," he said, nipping her.

"Galeeen," she said, and nudged him with her toes.

"Uh uh," he said, "I'm taking my time if I want. I like it here. I think I'm gonna move in. The view's incredible."

She laughed and so did he. "You're an idiot," she said.

"You love me for it," he said, smirking, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her. Her hair was spread out over the pillow, and her brown skin glowed against their creamy sheets.

"Yes, I do," she said. "Certifiable."

He smiled to himself and dipped his head, letting his tongue flicker out to taste her. She was smoky, salty, tangy. He lost himself between her thighs, letting his tongue set a pace that his fingers could follow, reaching for the spots he'd found over the years, the ones that made her moans go up an octave and set his cock stiff in an instant. She was slippery under his mouth, open and willing, and gods, he could live here, forever if they had that kind of time. Her hips jumped, her back arching, and he licked and sucked, humming, urging her on, stretching for the place that made her toes curl. Her fingers scrabbled for his shoulder and she clutched at him as her body shook, rattling the bed frame.

"Oh, gods," she sighed, "oh, holy frakking lords."

"Those are the ones I'm prayin' to," he said, his cock aching where it was trapped under him.

"Come here," she said roughly, holding out her arms. He levered himself up over her and she shoved his boxers down and caught his cock in her palm, squeezing gently.

"Mmm," he said, "keep doing that."

"Or even better," she said, and pushed at him until he rolled onto his back. She straddled him, holding tightly with her knees, lowering herself inch by slow inch until he was ready to beg, until she was just brushing his head.

"You little tease," he said, tugging gently at her hair.

"You love me anyway," she said back, and sank down on him until he felt like his eyes would roll back into his head completely. She was hot and wet and felt like the universe around him; his world ended at the bounds of her body but together they were infinite. He pushed her hair back out of her face as she rolled her hips against his. She bent to kiss him, pulling at his lips, and he craned his head up, cradling her head between his hands. Lords, even after a good day she was like the first sunshine after a hurricane, hope and glory and a way home. He grunted at the squeeze of her body that sent shock waves through him. The tension started in his shoulders, pulling his back into an arch, pulling his legs up so that he could angle deeper into her. He braced his feet against the mattress. She pushed herself halfway up and shifted faster over him, grinding down. His hands slipped to her thighs; under his palms, her muscles were tense, shivering. He rubbed his hands along the tautness, urging her on, groaning under her, and she gasped and shook again, glorious as a goddess in the temple.

"Come on," she said, still quivering, and he surged up into her, blinded by her beauty, consumed by desire and love for her, out of his body entirely, out of the world. Gods, was this what dying felt like? He was resurrecting in her arms, dissolving into a new consciousness, safe and whole and new, her voice the surest sound he'd ever heard calling him back. The spasm took him, shook him, set him spinning until he was dizzy, and he came back into his body with his arms and legs flung wide, holding onto the bed. She kissed his chest as she eased off of him and settled into the covers.

"Dinner's gonna taste good," he said, sprawled over the pillows.

"Yeah, when you get up and make it," she said.

"Might be a while," he admitted, and pulled her onto his chest, blowing her hair out of his face.

"Somehow I'm okay with that," she said. "Pretty comfortable right here."

He smiled and closed his eyes.


End file.
